


Wiggle Room

by Anonymous



Series: Agere Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Play Caregiver Aziraphale (Good Omens), Age Play Little Crowley (Good Omens), Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other: See Story Notes, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Executions no longer an option (as far as they know), Heaven and Hell continue to try to punish Aziraphale and Crowley in a most unusual way. But they'll get through it together.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Agere Omens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009284
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36
Collections: Anonymous





	Wiggle Room

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place some time after Armageddon and the failed executions. They are still in London.
> 
> In this story and the last, caregivers and 'littles' are a small but normal part of society and their biology as far as humans live, and was in Heaven for angels until the demons fell. More is explained as you read. My apologies if anything is confusing. I'm more than happy to correct and clarify if needed.

"Are you ready for lunch?" Aziraphale gently squeezes Crowley's hand as they walk leisurely down the street in SoHo, a large shopping bag in his other.

Some things haven't changed for the ineffable duo.

"I suppose I am." Crowley admits, his stomach growling at the mention. "S'weird."

Some have.

"Weird?"

"Needin' to eat." He admits, but it's not the only thing that has been 'weird'.

"You'll get used to it, my dear." Aziraphale smiles gently. "I don't even need to do so, and I find it enjoyable."

"S'weird I can't go without, anymore. If I don't...ugh." Crowley groans. He's feeling it as they speak.

Aziraphale chuckles. Crowley's worries seem a little silly to him, though he's not in the demon's shoes. But he's breaking in a new pair of his own, in a manner of speaking. "Rest assured, I will make sure you get enough nourishment to get you through the days ahead." That and other things Crowley needed. It was his new job now.

He considers it a 'dream job', in a way, when it's actually intended to be a punishment.

They enter a small café that Aziraphale had overheard two caregivers chatting about. Aziraphale keeps Crowley at his side as they stand at the counter and gaze at the menu. It's difficult for Crowley to decide; there are so many choices, even on the small whiteboard with entrees catered to his new tastes, and portions that are perfect for someone with a rather tiny stomach. His palate has become more sensitive to bold and strong flavors since Beelzebub broke the curses on him. He prefers grape juice to wine, and other drinks are a task to stomach, not to mention the buzz hits harder and faster. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

It was all Beelzebub could do to punish him, really. By default, all demons were cursed so that they could ignore the effects of their natural classifications. For demons, curses were like blessings: caregivers would not lose themselves in the need to fuss over demon littles, who would truly struggle in the harshness of demonic culture and be vulnerable to angels without their needs suppressed.

If they couldn't execute them, heaven and hell's higher ups would make a last ditch effort to make them miserable. Gabriel, too, decided that Aziraphale was 'too blessed', and decided to let the angel succumb to the struggles of being a natural born caregiver, as many angels were.

But the struggle had yet to happen.

"Order for me, angel?" Crowley asks softly, leaning towards his caregiver. He can do that now, much more easily. He's lost a few inches, and Aziraphale has gained some in height (enough that the angel needed to make adjustments to his wardrobe). "Not something mashed up beyond recognition."

"Of course, dear. How about a cheese toastie and some tomato soup?" He suggests, and receives a nod.

"I can go get us a table?" Crowley takes a step away, only to be tugged back.

"I'd feel better if you stuck with me, dear boy." Crowley pouts, this time out loud. "I know, I said I would give you some squiggle zoom, but we should start slow." The angel can't shake his innate need to protect the one he loves most.

"Wiggle room." Crowley huffs.

" _Crowley._ " Aziraphale squeezes the demon's hand reassuringly, and the little relaxes somewhat. Waiting is harder than it used to be. 

When they reach the counter, Crowley peers at all the pies and cakes in the glass display case as Aziraphale gives the cashier their order. He considers asking his new caregiver if he can just have a slice of French Silk instead, but it's too late. He looks back longingly until they reach a clean table.

"Can we get some chocolate pie, angel?" Crowley asks as Aziraphale places their table number stand off to the side.

"If you're still hungry after your lunch, we most definitely can."

"Why not dessert before lunch? Live a little...?"

"I know that would be the demonic thing to do, dear boy, but you had a poor breakfast and I need you to eat something more substantial."

The wait at the table feels much longer than it actually is. That's another thing Crowley doesn't like. He's become impatient and sloppy. He loses his cool much too easily if he doesn't focus, and that focus is fading as well. Worst of all? He's emotional. He was before, but now everything is a big deal.

Aziraphale is more than aware his punishment is easier to handle than Crowley's. Not much has changed for him in a negative way. But he loves Crowley with all his heart. He will not leave him, and Crowley won't leave his angel. He slides his hand across the table and lays it on top of the demon's, who picks his head up.

"Didn't mean to scare you, my dear. Are you doing alright?"

"...No." Crowley admits, his sunglasses fogging up.

"Tell me what's wrong?"

"...Y'know what's wrong." Crowley sniffs softly, trying to play it off like human allergies. Aziraphale is quick to stop him from wiping his nose with his sleeve, and offers his tartan handkerchief. "Beelzebub and that prissy peacock fucked things up. We're not supposed to have classifications! That time is over. I was glad it was over...kinda, sort of."

"You know, Crowley...I knew." Aziraphale starts.

"Knew? Knew what?" Crowley tries his hardest not to let his voice break. Anthony J. Crowley, bursting into tears because he can't handle the reality of his classification. Absurd, he thinks.

"That you were a little."

"What utter tosh."

"No, it's true. Well, more accurately, I had a strong feeling you were...a hunch since we first met. There was a strange, well, innocence to you. I couldn't place it at the time."

Innocent? He wants to laugh. Wants to tell Aziraphale he was wrong. But he won't, and the angel will know if he's lying poorly. "Demons lay curses on themselves to cover up those...weaknesses."

"Well, whoever cursed you did a piss poor job. You kipped for an entire century, dear boy."

"...Well, that. That's...there's a reason, a good reason--"

"There's a good reason, of course. Little angels and demons need to sleep. The curse cracked, and you had so much sleep to catch up with."

Crowley has nothing to counter with. He looks defeated. "This _sucks_ , angel."

Crowley slouches in newly felt misery, but the waitress scares him enough to sit straight up when she arrives with lunch. She knows who ordered what without needing to ask. Human society may not be able to tell that Crowley and Aziraphale are a demon and an angel, but they know who's a little and who's a caregiver.

Aziraphale can't help himself, reaching over with a butter knife to cut Crowley's toastie in half. Crowley tries to pretend not to notice, bringing a piping hot spoonful of soup to his lips. They match glances, Aziraphale's gaze reminding him to blow on the tomato bisque first.

"Yes, for lack of a better word." Aziraphale admits. The absolute lack of hesitation he has when he feels the need to help his demon is so unlike him. He hates when people get into his business, and here he is jumping at every move or sound Crowley makes. Sometimes it feels wrong. But they haven't even gone a week as their true selves. Crowley will regress more, and Aziraphale will continue to take charge. They can't help that.

"I do believe we'll get through this." Aziraphale speaks up again. Maybe its the caregiver talking, but if so, well, that is what he is. He tells himself he needs to embrace it, but also make it work for them. There is no one way for these relationships to work out. "It will be hard, but I also believe it will be a lot of fun."

Crowley doesn't seem to believe him, nibbling on half of the toastie when the waitress returns to check on them.

"I know we've only just started on our meals, but might we have two slices of that luxurious-looking French Silk pie in the case packed up to go?"

Crowley watches her walk away, then at Aziraphale once more with a twinkle in his eye.

They're getting sweets. French Silk pie. More delectable than...anything he can think of at the moment. If he didn't believe Aziraphale before, he has begun to now.

He picks up his bowl of soup and drinks it like a parched man in the desert as Aziraphale rises from the table to try to stop him. Perhaps life after a foiled Armageddon won't be so terrible, but it's definitely going to get more interesting.


End file.
